


Beneath a Dark Veil

by BlueRunawayMoon



Series: The Druidic Spark [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alpha Laura, Asexual Stiles Stilinski, BAMF Kira, BAMF Stiles, Creeper Peter, Demisexual Kira, Druid Stiles Stilinski, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Past Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Protective Derek, Protective Peter Hale, Scott is human but aware of the supernatural, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Kira Yukimura Friendship, Stiles and Derek are mates, Tattooed Kira Yukimura
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:52:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRunawayMoon/pseuds/BlueRunawayMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles was ten he and his dad left Beacon Hills and never looked back. Fifteen years and seven states later, tragedy strikes, and Stiles discovers that property in Beacon Hills has been passed down to him. Despite years of his father telling Stiles that they must never return, Stiles find's himself back in town and struggling with the fact that his mother seemed to have had a second life that he and his father never knew about. </p><p>Now Stiles finds himself surrounded by strange people that seemed to be wherever he turns, from a mysterious veterinarian to an older man who has a fascination with V neck shirts. And then there's the fact that an angry man in leather seem's to be stalking him, and the one person he actually becomes friends with can't seem to stop shocking him or blowing his light bulbs. Did he mention the guy with the uneven chin line that follows him around like a puppy or the weird father and daughter  who are always 'hunting' in the woods near his loft? Who hunts with a crossbow anyways??</p><p>And to top it off strange things are happening to Stiles, and he isn't sure how to deal with his changing emotions. At least he has a pretty cool dog though, that may or may not be a giant black wolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath a Dark Veil

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know about you guys, but I very much enjoy scruffy Dylan O'Brien & fully intend to incorporate it into the story lol
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> [](http://s176.photobucket.com/user/winter_parham/media/edited_zpsw5bjn7sl.jpg.html)  
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> I do NOT own Teen Wolf or any of it's characters or photos used :(

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm posting this now but won't actually be picking it up until I'm finished with another of my fic's (which only has 1 chapter left actually). I'm mainly posting it to get it out there and see if any beta reader's would be interested in picking it up. The story will be pretty dark/edgy. Lots of angst, though there will be humor as well. It's going to be interesting, because in the beginning Stiles isn't really going to be the Stiles we all know, but later on in the story his true character will start to emerge.

Talia Hale stared down at the young boy asleep in her son's bed, her eyes drawn to the ugly red marks marring the bottom of the right side of his chin and reaching almost down to his collarbone. They stood out brightly against the otherwise pale, soft skin, and she hated that the boy would always wear the marks, even after they had healed. Beside the boy, Laura, her daughter, sat on the edge of the bed smoothing the sweaty hair back from the boy's forehead with a pained expression on her face. The protective instinct for the boy was strong in her daughter, maybe even more so than her son, Derek, and looking at Laura now Talia caught a glimpse of the Alpha the girl would one day be. Were the circumstances different, she would have smiled at the thought.

 

"This can't keep happening." Laura drew out with a soft whisper.

 

Talia nodded. "I know."

 

"What are we going to do, Mom? Claudia wouldn't have wanted this for him, you know that."

 

Talia felt a sharp pain at the mention of her deceased best friend, a soul deep ache that would never again be fully soothed. "There's only one way that we can protect him." 

 

Laura turned a frown to her, a moment later her eyes lighting in realization. Her gaze widened. "You can't! Mom, this isn't right. He's meant to be here with us!"

 

Talia laid a gentle, but firm hand on her daughter's shoulder as her own heart broke, because Laura was right. The boy was as much there's as they were his. "If he stays, he'll always be hunted. It's the only way."

 

Laura's jaw clenched and her lips trembled. She turned to look back down at the boy, a tear falling to trail down her cheek. "What about Derek? You know how close they are."

 

"Derek will understand, one day." Derek, her fifteen year old son, seemed to worship the ground the boy walked on. They were usually found together, despite their age difference, and Talia ached at the pain her son would go through once the boy was gone. While the bond between them all was strong, the link between the boy and Derek was strongest, and Talia knew that the stronger the tether, the more painful the separation would be. The thought of the coming pain of her gentle, protective son affected her on a level that only a parent would understand. A scent hit her nose then, and Talia glanced up towards the door just as John Stilinski burst through. He searched the room with frantic eyes before his gaze landed on the boy on the bed. A choked sob bubbled up from his lips and then he was surging forward, his shaking hands replacing Laura's to trail through the boy's dark hair.

 

"What the hell happened?!" John finally barked out, glaring behind him at Talia. 

 

Laura's eyes flashed golden at John's tone but Talia quieted her with a single flash of her own red ones before turning back to John. "An Omega. We took care of him, but not before he attacked Stiles."

 

John cursed sharply, jerking his gaze back to his son. "What the hell was he even doing out of school?"

 

"All we can assume is that Stiles felt the Omega's call and left the building. Thankfully the Omega drew him close enough to our territory that it set off Deaton's wards and warned us of his intrusion."

 

John grasped his son's hand, holding it tightly. He was silent a long moment, and Talia could smell the clash of emotions within him, and knew he was trying to keep himself in control. "We can't keep doing this, Talia." John finally drew out, his voice shaky. "Stiles deserves a better life than this. They just keep coming, no matter what we do. I can't lose him too, Talia. I can't!" John dropped his head on the bed and clutched at Stiles hand, and his shoulders shook.

 

"I know, John." Talia said softly, moving forward to lay a hand on his shoulder and offer what comfort she could. "And that's why the two of you need to leave."

 

John's head shot up instantly, a look of shock on his face. For a moment he was speechless, blinking rapidly. "What?"

 

"He will never be safe here, not with the Nameton continuously drawing the supernatural to the town. The only way to keep him safe is to cut him off from our world, to sever all contact."

 

"But...I don't understand. I know Stiles is special to your Pack. I thought that -"

 

"His being here endangers his life, John. We are sending him away  _because_  he is important. You aren't the only one who would be devastated if something were to happen to him."

 

A look of immense relief crossed John's face, and his eyes shone as he looked at up at Talia. "Thank you. You have no idea how grateful I am to you and your pack for keeping him safe all these years, especially after Claudia..." He drew off, and the room grew silent, heavy with the weight of his words. Eventually John cleared his throat, wiping his hand over his wet face. "But you know as well as I that he won't just leave. He'll never forgive me for this."

 

Talia gave a soft sigh, nodding. "Which is why I thought it best to seek out someone who could possibly help us."

 

John frowned, but before he could formulate a question the door to the room was opening again and a tall, dark skinned man stepped in carrying a black leather brief case. John surged to his feet instantly with a curse, standing protectively in front of Stiles and glaring at the man. "What the hell are you doing here?"

 

Deaton held his hand up, his expression passive. "Talia called me. She thought that I might be able to help."

 

John released a deep, bitter laugh, his lips twisting in a scowl. "You? Help? When have you ever done that?"

 

Deaton sighed, laying his brief case on a dresser and standing a few feet from John. "I know that there is bad blood between the two of us, but I promise my only intention is to help Stiles."

 

"Bullshit. You expect me to believe you're okay with us leaving?  _Stiles_  leaving? You can't fool me. I know how much you want him."

 

"It's true that I believe it best that Stiles learns to develop his magick, but Talia and I have spoken and we both agree that it is no longer safe for him in Beacon Hills.” Deaton looked down at Stiles’ sleeping form, longing briefing crossing his features. The moment the Druid had discovered what Stiles was he had tried to get Claudia and John to give him permission to train Stiles, but Claudia had always been weary of Druids from past experiences and John had been adamant from the very beginning that Stiles not learn about that part of himself. Despite that, Deaton had taken it upon himself to watch over Stiles from afar, who, like his mother before him he formed a strong bond with the Hale Pack, and as a result his powers had only grown.

 

“You both seem to forget how stubborn Stiles can be.” John said with a sigh, turning to stare down at his son. “He’ll never agree to leave, especially not with how close he and Derek are.”

 

“Talia expected this, which is why we thought of a possible solution, but we would need your permission.”

 

John frowned between Deaton and Talia, suspicion clouding his expression. “What are you talking about exactly?”

 

“A spell.” Deaton said simply.

 

John swore, shaking his head instantly. “No. No way in hell.”

 

“John, just hear him out.” Talia stood in front of him, placing a hand on his arm. “I know that you have issues with these kinds of things, but sometimes they can really be used for good. To help.”

 

John snarls in a way that’s nearly wolf like, and Talia really shouldn’t be surprised. He and Claudia had been their closest friends for fifteen years. It would make sense for John to have picked up a few of their more animal like attributes.

 

 He turns a narrowed eyed glare to Deaton, his stance still rigidly protecting his sleeping son. “What kind of spell?”

 

“Something to make leaving easier.”

 

“What could possibly make leaving the people he loves easier?”

 

Deaton gave a sad smile. “Forgetting they even exist.”

 

Laura gasps from her spot on the bed, surging up in horror. “Mom, you can’t be serious!”

 

Talia reaches out and runs her hand over her daughter’s dark, silky hair. “It’s the only way, Sweet. You know he will never agree to leave. And this way, there’s no chance that he will one day return to Beacon Hills.”

 

Laura’s lips tremble and her eyes water before she lays her head on her mother’s strong shoulders. “So…we’re really never going to see him again?” She whispers.

 

Talia sighs and kisses her daughters head. “Not if we want him safe.”

 

Laura sniff’s, wrapping an arm around her mother’s waist to hold tightly before looking up again with wide, tear filled eyes. “What about Derek? He needs to be here before…”

 

Talia turned to look over her daughter’s shoulder at Stiles. Her gaze scanned him with such fond love that her eyes nearly shown. “I think its best that Derek not be here for this.”

 

Laura balked, stepping away as if slapped. “What? But Mom, you know what Stiles means to him! He’ll never forgive you if he doesn’t get a chance to at least say goodbye!”

 

“Believe me; I know how important Stiles is to Derek.” More so than Laura or anyone else for that matter. Talia had watched the moment her son first laid eyes on Stiles Stilinski. Derek had been only five, and Stiles still a newborn cradled safely in Claudia’s arms. Talia had heard the way her son’s heart beat skipped and then sped up. She had saw the way his eyes had eagerly ran over Stiles sleeping form and his fingers had twitched as if he longed to touch. Talia had felt a bond form between the two of them instantly, and she knew what that meant. She had never told anyone, not even Derek, but she suspected that lately he had begun to understand why he had been so drawn to Stiles from the beginning. Which was why Derek couldn’t know. “Derek would never agree to Stiles leaving, and if he did, it would only be if he were to leave with him.” She shook her head. “We can’t tell Derek about this until John has already left Beacon Hills.”

 

“What makes you think he won’t just go after them?” Laura pressed.

 

“I imagine he’ll try. Which is why we’ll tell him Stiles will have no memory of not only him, but any of us.”

 

“God.” John shook his head sadly. “He’s going to be devastated, Talia. I’m so sorry.”

 

Talia offered him a weak smile, nodding. “Thank you. It will be hard for all of us, but once Derek understands it’s for the best, I’m sure he will be fine.”

 

“So, are we going to do this, then?” Deaton looked around the room, his gaze resting finally on John.

 

John looked down at his son, his eyes awash with worry. “It’s the only way.” He turned to Deaton. “Do it.”

 

Deaton nodded, returning to his briefcase to gather his materials. “You understand that the only way to hide what he is will be to make sure he never comes in contact with another werewolf.”

 

John nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I know.”

 

“I would try my best to steer clear of magick users as well. They will be able to sense him even if he isn’t _Resonating_.” Deaton glanced up from the herbs he was crashing in a small stone mortar. “Also, you are aware that breaking all connection he has with the supernatural world will change him. As with any _Spark_ with lack of contact, he will grow more…detached.”

 

John nodded, a look of fear crossing his features again. “I know. Claudia told me what it was like for her in the beginning. I just…I don’t want to lose him.”

 

Talia shook her head, sitting on the bed beside John and taking his hand. “You won’t lose him, John. He’ll still be your son. He’ll still be Stiles. Just…” She sighed.

 

“Not fully.” John whispered.

 

Talia nodded sadly, squeezing his hand. “He will still love you, John. Nothing will stop that.”

 

Deaton produced a large, leather bound journal from his briefcase and moved to stand before them. “We’re ready.”

 

John nodded, wiping his face and blowing out a sharp breath of air. He looked down at his son a long moment, squeezing his hands, before leaning down and kissing his forehead. “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.” Letting out a shaky breath he drew away from the bed, making room for Deaton to move forward and kneel before Stiles.

 

Talia watched as the Druid began to apply the crushed, sticky herbs in a line down Stiles forehead and then chant the incantation needed to remove his memories. In her chest her heart was breaking, and she prayed that this would keep Stiles safe.

 

To be born a _Spark_ was a rare, precious thing. But to be born as both a _Spark_ and Druid had not happened in almost three hundred years. It made him even more valuable to the supernatural world, and as with some things rare and sought after, blood would be shed to acquire it.

 

But not anymore. With the spell Stiles would lose all memory of his past life, and John would take him far away, where his life would no longer be in danger.

 

And Talia and her family would somehow find a way to pick up the broken pieces of their hearts and maybe even one day move on.

 

 

***********************

 

 

_Present Day_

 

_Cutler, Maine_

 

 

 

 

 

[ ](http://s176.photobucket.com/user/winter_parham/media/tumblr_mtu9dvbri41s19pnbo9_500_zpscgukg0uu.gif.html)

 

 

 

Stiles stood on the muddy sand, his tennis shoes sinking deep and becoming quickly soaked through. He stared out across the expanse of sea and dark rock in front of him, the hard rain pelting like bullets against his skin and mixing in with his tears. The waves were crashing, as chaotic as the thoughts within his own mind, and a small part of him took pleasure at the thought that he was not the only one unhinged. The Priest's words that morning kept coming back to him, like a looped recording playing endlessly through his mind.

 

_John was loved by many, and will be forgotten by none._

 

Stiles let out a bitter laugh that was as wet as the world around him. His father had died without a single friend. Hell, the funeral had consisted of nothing but Stiles and the Priest, and two workers who had lowered the casket into the ground. No one had known the real John Stilinski, no one but Stiles; just as no one but Stiles would miss him.

 

He shivered against the cold November rain, yet couldn’t really find the strength to move, or at the very least wrap his arms around his shaking frame. His dad was dead. The only person Stiles had had for fifteen years was dead. A sob bubbled up within his throat and he tipped his head back, staring with blurry eyes up at the dark, gray sky. It felt everything he had ever known was shifting, falling apart and leaving far too many scattered pieces for Stiles to ever put back together. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now.

 

He and his dad had been in Maine for nearly a year, and their lease would soon be up. Stiles wasn’t sure if he should renew it or not. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Cutler, because he did. The seaside town was small, yet beautiful. Without the touristy feel that many parts of Maine was like. The people were nice enough, if not a little stand offish in that way most small towns usually were. But Stiles was even okay with that. He had never really been much of a people person, never quite able to go out of his way just to make friends. Not that he hadn’t had any in the past fifteen years, because he had, it was just…sometimes Stiles felt slightly detached from the world, and he wasn’t sure why.

 

It was something that he had eventually come to accept about himself; the fact that he would most likely always be alone. Usually he was alright with the knowledge, but every once in a while something would come over him and he would find himself lying awake at night, wondering what it would be like if things were different. If he and his father actually decided to settle down and stay in a place long enough to call it a home.

 

Yet even when Stiles imagined such a life it was hard for him to picture much more beyond that point. A part of him played with the idea of some form of companionship, but only of the most platonic kind. It wasn’t that he was against something more, the notion was just too complex and seemingly unreachable to him.

 

Stiles had never felt sexual lust.

 

In the beginning he had thought he was just a late bloomer, but as he had left his teenager years behind and entered his early twenties and still never felt a spark of sexual attraction, Stiles began to wonder if it was maybe for another reason entirely. He had come to terms with the fact that he may be asexual, and what that could possibly mean for him. To never know another person’s intimate touch didn’t really faze him, but as detached as he could sometimes be, the idea of never really feeling anything close to love bothered him on a level he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge.

 

At one point he had played with the notion of trying despite his lack of sexual appetite. He had awkwardly flirted with a few girls at diners while on the road, and one time had even ended up at the back of a building making out. He quickly learned though that it was kind of hard to fake it when down south he was basically as dead as a door nail. The girl had looked at him like he was a special kind of freak and rolled her eyes as she strolled away, muttering _queer_ under her breath.

 

Somehow that one word had acted as a push in a new direction. Stiles went over the possibility of being in a relationship with a man. He understood the basics but could never really come to let himself try it out,.

 

In the end his dad had caught him staring questionably at gay porn on his laptop one night at a hotel and before Stiles could die of embarrassment John had sat down and told him that it was alright to be different, and he shouldn’t do something his body didn’t want just because he was lonely.

 

_Lonely._ The word was like a curse to Stiles, seeming to follow him everywhere he went. But now that his dad was gone he had never felt so left behind. He let out a shaky breath, opening his eyes to stare up at the rain, his vision blurry from water and tears. As he looked upwards, the dark gray of the sky began to shift and change to something more vibrant and colorful, until he was glimpsing a canopy of tree’s above him, rain drops hitting their leaves and falling to smack his face.

 

 

 

[ ](http://s176.photobucket.com/user/winter_parham/media/tumblr_mtu9dvbri41s19pnbo6_500_zpsnrwxemwz.gif.html)

 

Stiles frowned and blinked his eyes, and when they opened again, the vision was gone. 

 

He stood in the rain a moment longer, until his bones were shaking and his teeth chattering, and then turned to head to the small cottage that he and his dad had been renting on the sea side. He slipped in and pulled his hoodie over his head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. It was cold in the cottage, but nowhere near as cold as it was outside, and Stiles hovered by the couch where his dad’s sweatshirt had been tossed earlier in the week. He lowered his hands to run his fingers carefully over the faded material, tracing the big black letters that spelled out _Beacon Hills Police Department_. The shirt had been in his dad’s possession for almost thirty years, and the fact that he had kept it all this time clearly said of its importance.  He wanted to pick it up and slip it on, but was almost too scared to, as if in doing so he would be acknowledging that the shirt no longer belonged to _just_ his dad. Acknowledging that he was really dead.

 

Stiles folded it carefully, his hands shaking, and moved to his small bedroom to sit it on the bed. Beside the shirt was a thick manila folder with his father’s last living will, and also the deed to the property his mother had apparently owned in Beacon Hills.

 

When the lawyer had told him about it Stiles had been surprised. He didn’t remember much about the time he had lived in California, and he certainly didn’t remember his mother ever owning an entire building downtown. According to the lawyer it was nothing to extravagant, just a small four thousand sqft building that had a loft apartment at the top and on the lower level had apparently once upon a time worked as an antique books shop. After his mother’s death it had been left to his father, and now that his father was gone, it was his.

 

In the beginning Stiles didn’t have any idea what to do. His lawyer gave him a few numbers of some possible buyers for the building and had sent Stiles on his way. But now…

 

He looked down at his dad’s shirt again, at the words there seeming to stand out with striking clarity even though they were old and faded. He didn’t know anything about Beacon Hills; didn’t even really remember living there aside from a few fleeting images, but suddenly the cottage that he and his dad had been living in for the past ten months felt smothering.

 

Stiles felt unhinged. Afloat in an endless sea of emptiness with no anchor to keep him steady and still. Still. It was such a strange notion, especially seeing as the past fifteen years he and his dad had pretty much been on the move constantly. Yet, despite that, Stiles found that he _wanted_ that stillness. He wanted _normal._

 

His large duffle was under the bed, and he pulled it out, opening it to find a few articles of clothing still inside. Stiles couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. This was his life. What was the use of fully unpacking when his dad had been so quick to move them again.

 

Swallowing hard he carefully sat the sweatshirt on the clothes, and then headed to the small, slightly beaten dresser that he and his dad had picked up at a yard sale a few weeks after coming to Cutler. He didn’t have much. Just a few pairs of old faded jeans that were slightly too tight from years of growth, and a handful of graphic tee shirts and flannel button downs. More than anything he seemed to have a large selection of hoodies. He pulled on another to ward off the chill of the house, zipping it straight up to his neck, and for some reason that made him feel safer. More secure. He kicked off his wet shoes and changed out his socks for dryer ones, deciding to toss the converse that were more holes than fabric. He grabbed the other, shoestring less pair under the bed and pulled them on.

 

There were a few books thrown around the room haphazardly and he stuffed them in the duffle as well, their pages worn and yellow.

 

He looked around the room after, making sure he had packed everything, and the knowledge that his entire life could fit in one duffle had never made him ache painfully before, but now it did. Suddenly he had to be out of the room. Out of the house. Feeling claustrophobic, Stiles stumbled into the hall and grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste from the bathroom. He didn’t both with anything else like towels or washcloths, instead rushed for the front door as if the devil were on his heels. As he passed a doorway, though, he paused, his body growing stiff and his chest tight.

 

A part of him longed to turn the knob and push the door open in the hope that his father would be sitting on the bed beyond, head bent and a look of extreme weariness on his face, which he had been wearing the past few months. Stiles fingers twitched. His throat closed up. He gritted his jaw tight and passed the door before he could give in. Grabbing the keys to his beat up Jeep from the nail on the wall, he took the one to the house off the keychain and sat it under the large dog statue near the entrance. As he moved away, his hands lingered on the smooth, cold stone of the statue almost longingly, for a moment his mind going back to the time he and his dad had bought it.

 

They had been in Cutler for only two days, and were walking the town, familiarizing themselves with yet another new location and looking for any possible job opportunities. It was the weekend, and the early spring New England air had a slight chill to it that had the fine hairs on Stiles arm standing on edge from where his hoodie sleeves were bunched up.

 

Stiles had been tired and slightly irritated that day, after the long drive from Albany. The moment they had hit Maine, they had passed dozens of possible cities or towns for them to settle down at, but his dad had been persistent that if they just drove a little further they would find something better. Stiles had no idea why it mattered. It wasn’t like they were going to be staying there forever, anyways. The truth of the matter was no matter where they ended up, Stiles always knew that it would just be a temporary. In a few months, maybe a year, they’d hit the road again, on to their next ‘home’. His dad had fought him every minute of the way, though, continuously protesting that they weren’t there yet, that they had to keep driving.

 

When they had finally reach Cutler, on the far North East side of the state, they were only hours away from New Brunswick and almost out of Maine completely. Stiles had stared out the window, watching the colorful houses pass and the beautiful marina that had sparkled like diamonds, and while he could agree that it was beautiful, he hadn’t understood why it had to be that place in particular. When Stiles had asked, his dad had shut down completely.

 

It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it still managed to irritate Stiles and the next few days he had been distant from his father, something that he knew always worried John.

 

When they had stumbled across a small outside flea market, Stiles hadn’t wanted to join the thick copse of people that all seemed to be staring at them, recognizing them as outsiders. But his dad had practically dragged him over. He had spotted the large, incredibly tacky dog statue and had demanded they get it. The lady selling it had asked for a ridiculous price and Stiles had all but laughed in her face, but his dad had handed over the money with a huge smile, holding the ugly thing in his arms like it were a prized jewel and not some piece of trash that deserved the dumpster. Later that day, as they sat in the car headed to their little rental, John had told him that his mom had loved cheap, tacky things, he had said that she felt bad for the fact that no one else would ever buy them, and had always been quick to give them a home, like they were actual living things with souls.  “ _They don’t fit in,”_ She had apparently said. “ _If I bring them home, at least they’ll have a place to not fit in together.”_

 

Stiles hadn’t said anything else about the matter.

 

He locked his jaw tight, pausing in the open door. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, whispering words like _home_ and _memories_ and he couldn’t quite ignore it anymore. With a sigh he turned and picked up the large statue, grunt a bit at its weight. He slid the key in the mailbox on the house as he went out, and headed for the Jeep. Beacon Hills... here he comes. 

 

 

 

[ ](http://s176.photobucket.com/user/winter_parham/media/Art-Deco-Whippet-Greyhound-Sentinel-Dog-Statue_zpswruhlki9.jpg.html)

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Beneath A Dark Veil](http://8tracks.com/ship_sailor4life/beneath-a-dark-veil?utm_medium=referral&utm_content=mix-page&utm_campaign=embed_button) from [Ship_Sailor4life](http://8tracks.com/ship_sailor4life?utm_medium=referral&utm_content=mix-page&utm_campaign=embed_button) on [8tracks Radio](http://8tracks.com?utm_medium=referral&utm_content=mix-page&utm_campaign=embed_button).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I know some of you guys are gonna be mad that John is dead, it's just needed for the story. Also, Cora doesn't exist, and while Allison is in it, she's not going to be very liked for the 1st story, neither is Chris. Scott&Allison pairing will not exist, but neither will Scott & Kira. For this story, or at least the 1st part of it, I'm pretty sure Scott is gonna be a solo act.

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://s176.photobucket.com/user/winter_parham/media/tumblr_ntg6k09wNC1rxhn2ko1_400%20-%20Copy_zpskfnhzmie.jpg.html)  
>  [](http://s176.photobucket.com/user/winter_parham/media/B8dfSAQIMAAWuRM_zps6lkia3m1.jpg.html) [](http://s176.photobucket.com/user/winter_parham/media/2a6dab6aa7e77f02ad8baf6ad11f51fe_zps3zt4baur.jpg.html) [](http://s176.photobucket.com/user/winter_parham/media/black-wolf_zpsdolhncn7.jpg.html)


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